The eloquence of woodpeckers

Woodpeckers of mistrust
spreading hazy dark dust,
in mist, hollow, delight,
I must not let them,
stray blossoms so bright

A finer temptress

The mind of a finer tempress is surreal sometimes even beautiful,

but the nightmare is always lurking in the shadows of darkness,

waiting to come out and reveal its multiple personalities.

Listen to your head

Like a baby rich in dreams
She floats and flies
with big bright eyes
Watch her glow
for she will grow
Either far or near
she’s still held dear
A star rich in gleams




Time has come to face endurance without the red balloon by my side. It may shortly take the form of sorrow and mourning but quickly change to be bliss by letting go and moving on. Like the boy who wholeheartedly lost a balloon by malicious people, although instead he ended up gaining a million.

A gift from above,
May your heart always feel love

Misty green and blue

The trivial schadenfreude running through their veins. I am giving joy to those who take pleasure in others defeat. Sometimes it is hard to tell if the decisions that I am making are emotional, which makes it difficult to determine whether they are rational. They are constructive, but destructive as those I look up to are merely logical and cannot see any logic in them. I would give up my emotionability in a heartbeat, hence I can't because an emotion inhibits me to do so. This emotion mediates the belief that I am giving up something extraordinary that I will miss and regret. See, the paradox is that the latter is an emotion as well. How can I simply trash them? How are the logical ones able to be happy? And are they even happy?

Everyone is a storyteller

The winter is here, the sky is gray,
the wind is cold and the sun is gone.
The grass is frosted, the flowers are dead,
the bliss is gone and so is the swan.
The menace is present, the swords are drawn,
the knight is brave and the reaper is grim.
The passion is clear, the demise ends bold,
the sublime is blinding yet thee must it all behold.
For the painter holds the tale to be told, in the new day of dawn.

I have outdone myself again and achieved a second transcendence to my benefit. My best poem yet, and an introduction to my piano sonata.
I know that I do not know the meaning of happenings, however today was a productive day with elegant approaches and enthusiastic people. Still. Surprisingly, I kept my feet on the ground and noticed them and their spirit without being in accordance to me. This was in fact very pleasant and blissful and undeniably beautiful, to acknowledge someones smile without the 'me, me, me'.

Towards the horizon

Righteous judge of vengeance,
grant me the gift of absolution
before the day of retribution.

What happened to the notions of love, grown tarnished and tad.
To be majestic and cruel, hoist by one's own petard.
These assaults on serenity and levels of effort misperceived.
The golden light of glow, nor bared or beheld.
Soon wishing sensitive introspection, rather than ashes of malice.
Forsakenly, many miles of untravelled road has gone to waste.

Damned art thee - there is still time to change the road thee art on.